


Your Pretty Little Curl

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Curl Fetish, Hair Kink, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-10
Updated: 2009-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 00:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred and Francis have a thing for curls. Matthew has a curl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Pretty Little Curl

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [The Hetalia Kink Meme](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com).

That curl looks good enough to eat.

"It looks good enough to fuck," Francis whispers at Alfred's ear.

Alfred startles and turns. "Was that my outloud voice?" Grinning, he meets Francis's smiling eyes, almost too close to focus on, so very fucking close. "It looks good enough to fuck, and then eat."

"Yes, it does."

"Yeah." Alfred's eyes slide from Francis's face to Matthew, then back Francis. "It sure does."

Laughing, Francis follows Alfred's smiling eyes once more to Matthew. "Fuck."

"Yeah."

"You are kidding, no?" Francis laughs again.

With a brightness in his eyes and a wickedness in his smile, Alfred says, "Don't you want to see your cock wrapped in that curl? I know I do."

Francis's laughter this time fades as he focuses on Alfred's finger, twirling a strand of his own hair into a curl, curling the twirl around his finger, sliding in deeper before twirl-curling free. "Fuck," Francis breathes.

Alfred breathes a smile, smiles a yeah. He doesn't have to look over his shoulder to feel Francis's focus lingering and following as he walks over to Matthew.

"Hey," Alfred whispers at Matthew's ear.

The curl caresses Alfred's face as Matthew turns from Arthur and Kiku. "Hallo." Matthew smiles. When Alfred only smiles back, Matthew quirks a brow. "Did you want something?"

"That's all right," Alfred says. Others pass by them on their way back to the meeting room; in Alfred's peripheral vision, Arthur looks at his watch pointedly. "Looks like we're starting up again. I'll catch you at the next break." He starts to go, but then turns back and leans in to whisper, "And so will Francis. He's going to catch you by the hair, and fuck your pretty little curl."

This time when Alfred goes, he doesn't look over his shoulder; he doesn't have to, to feel Matthew's smile linger, his gaze follow.

 

At the next break, Alfred waits up against the wall between the men's room and the ladies'.

He doesn't have to wait long. "Well?" he says when they arrive, almost together.

Francis and Matthew look from one door to the other. "Is this not a bit of a cliché?" Francis says.

Matthew adds, "Like being stuck between a cliché and a...nother cliché." He offers a lopsided grin.

"Yeah," Alfred says. "It is."

"Well then," Francis says, "if it is to be clichés, the ladies' room is certain to be nicer. Cleaner."

It's not cleanliness that Francis wants, oh no. And it's not niceness that makes Alfred smile. "Okay." Alfred holds the door and follows them in, locking the world out with a twist of his wrist.

"Now what?"

"Don't look at me!" Alfred says.

They look at him anyhow; they all look at each other, and then they look at each other in the mirror. There's an edge to the light, a florescent glare, and Alfred wishes aloud for the glow of softfocus.

"But no," Francis says. "We look fantastic."

"We look porntastic, maybe," Alfred says. "Or we soon will." They all grin at each other, their reflections smiling at them, too. "Are you hard yet?" he asks Francis.

"I am getting there."

"You mean just the thought of fucking this curl," Alfred hears the soft _oh_ of Matthew's sigh as he tugs it, "isn't enough? Can't you feel it, just looking at it, your naked cock sliding through this?" His fingers play out his words. "It'll be the sweetest dryfuck you ever had.

Francis undoes the buttons on his jacket, hitches his shoulders as he undoes his zip; he undoes himself and takes himself out, not at all undone.

Alfred finds himself gazing, fucking _gazing_ at Francis's cock. He glances sidelong at Matthew, and finds him gazing, too.

Then Matthew kneels.

Of course he does.

When Matthew reaches for Francis, Alfred leads him around by the curl so he's facing the mirror, away from Francis. "No, kiddo," he says, bending to Matthew's ear, brushing aside soft strands there with his lips. "You're not going to do any touching. You're not going to do anything here but get your curl fucked."

Matthew's blush is as pretty as his curl; as pretty, though not as dark, as the blush coloring Francis's cock.

"Let me," Alfred murmurs. Reaching for Francis's cock, he wraps the curl around it until Francis is done up nice.

When he's finished, Alfred moves back and looks at them. He was careful to arrange them so they can watch each other during the fucking, but Matthew has closed his eyes in surrender. Francis's face is turned down and theoretically he could have his eyes closed, too, but Alfred knows he's looking at the twirl of Matthew's curl; the telltale flutter of lashes gives him away.

Then Francis starts to slide, slowly, so slowly, not fucking yet, just testing the sensations of touch. Mouth open, Matthew's tongue slides along the roof of his mouth, caressing Francis's cock through layers of tissue, bone, skin, hair. Francis's cockhead peeks out from Matthew's curl as Matthew's tongue does the same from between his teeth.

With a slow slide back through the curl and along Matthew's scalp, Francis slips down along Matthew's neck.

Alfred grazes the underside of Francis's cock with the back of his knuckles, caresses the nape of Matthew's neck with the pads of his fingertips; sliding up, he buries his hand in Matthew's hair and fists it. Pulling through the strands to their ends, he wraps them 'round his fingers in a semblance of curls; he pulls Matthew by the hair, forward and down, head bowed, neck arched, nape up to meet Francis's cock. Alfred's fingers browse back through Matthew's hair to create a thicketed tunnel for Francis's cock to push through.

And Francis does, with slow, soft, easy friction. The tender velvet of skin through silken strands is a touch, an exploration–not a fuck, not yet, not yet. "Wait for it," Francis's cock whispers to Matthew's hair; Alfred hears the soft, rustling promise.

Francis reaches for Matthew's curl, bends it back across the top of Matthew's head. He toys with it, winding it around his cock, flicking the tip of the curl with his thumb.

Kneeling before them, eye level with cockhead and curl, Alfred sees the pulsations, the throb of blood and desire in Francis's veins, vibrating into Matthew's curl; the curl trembles, as soft as Francis is hard.

Alfred looks up and sees Francis's mouth curved into a smile.

"Curltease," Alfred grins up at him. "You fucking curltease."

Returning the grin, Francis releases the curl, letting it slide forward into its natural fall; Matthew cries out softly at the loss and opens his eyes. Alfred grins into the gaze; then tilts Matthew's face down and licks that quivering curl. Wraps his tongue around it and draws it into his mouth, sucks it straight, then lets it slip free to curl alone.

Not alone for long: Francis and Alfred reach for it at the same time, their fingertips touching; their gaze tangles before Francis relinquishes the curl to Alfred. Alfred tugs it, feels a tug in his balls at the sound it elicits from Matthew. He holds his breath as he winds the curl around Francis's cock this time, just so he can listen to the sweet thickness of Matthew's, the unspoken begging weighting each breath Matthew takes.

Flicking his gaze up to Francis's again, Alfred suckles the end of the curl, watching Francis watching him, touching Francis only with his own hot, heavy breath as Francis fucks the spiral of curl.

When the curl slips from his mouth; when Matthew trembles and slips, Alfred curls around him, catches him, finds Matthew's eyes and kisses his mouth, tasting the tremble and steady curl of his tongue. Holding Matthew's face, Alfred kisses his curl, his brow. Kisses Matthew's lips with the curl of his smile.


End file.
